An Undying Love
by WesternRose
Summary: Severus Snape has lived a life full of regrets, but perhaps he can finally start living the moment he dies. In a place he thought would be hell, he finds a piece of Heaven.
1. Coffee For Two

Chapter One: _Coffee For Two_

Harry's eyes were as green as his mother's. Lily. _My_ Lily. His eyes were the last thing I'd seen alive, and they were all I could have wished for. His arms were around me, his countenance dripping with horror with his hand on my hallowed cheek. I hated him for being his son, I hated him for existing and took a terrible pleasure in his mockery, but In the deepest caverns of my bitter heart, I loved him as if he were my own.

If only, if only I could have swept him away from the hatred of the world. I took an oath to protect him, and as my eyes grew dim and the warmth of Harry's arms turned cold, I knew that the promise had been fulfilled.

I am not ashamed of the relief that caressed my soul. I then realized that I had been dying to feel this lightness; this innocence that was lost upon me the moment that my dearest and most loved friend left me. After my light had turned dark, the brood of vipers stuck their vangs in the veins of my wrist and refused to let go. I was tainted. With every slight thrown my way by those mediocre imbeciles, my wrath grew like a parasite. The anger turned into crippling anguish at the… at the death of Lily. But now, in body and mind, all was feather-light. Wingardium Leviosa could do no justice to this new repose.

Nagini's puncture no longer surged through my blood like wildfire; it, in simple terms, ceased to exist. My limbs were stuffed with cotton; my brain was full off fragrant flowers: roses, bleedings hearts, petunias, lilies, and daffodils. My vision was no more. There were only the light and me, and we were one. Unfortunately, this feeling, or lack thereof, was not meant to last.

The wold came to me in a flash of black and white. The stiffness of the ground bellow me broke the bottle of curiosity within me, and I was startled upon the discovering that I sat upon a lone bench, pale as the rest of world around me, in the middle of a deserted King's Cross Station. My lips pursed and tugged into a scowl. Of course, death couldn't be as simple as dying — just my luck.

I stood with a detestable wabble as my surroundings seemed to twist around me. Grabbing the bench for support, my other hand snapped to wrap around my forearm. No. Could it be? I dared to take a glance at my bare arm. There was no skull sullying my skin. No snake to slither around my throat and squeeze what will I had left, out of me. I sagged against the bench. I clench my hands around the wood so tightly that they nearly turned as white as the world had become.

'Idiot,' I thought with a vengeance. Of course, it would be gone. I'm dead, for Slytherin's sake. Why wouldn't it be gone? With the sharpness of my eyes returned, I inspected my surroundings with heavy skepticism. Somehow, the frustrating truth of the matter is that somehow, the train waiting at the station had evaded my vision. Not wanting to discover what lied beyond the waiting grounds, my cloke just barely brushed the ground as I swept across the station. At my approaching steps, the door to the train opened with a hiss. I stiffened at the sound. With one last glance over my shoulder, I slowly trod up the stairs so familiar to me. The halls of the train seemed to go on infinity. With the gentleness of a doe, I floated down the train, looking into each barren compartment. Every door was ajar. I searched with a calmness that encompassed me slowly but surely.

Almost in a daze, I continued for an incredible amount of time until the spell was broken. I had found a closed door. With an effort of one who wishes to avoid confrontation, I slid the door open with but a whisper of sound. What sat before me was nothing I had ever expected. It was not even in the realm of possibilities that ran through my head as water does in a raging river. It would have been much less surprising to have had Dumbledoor or even my mother to appear. The last person I had expected to appear before me was none other than Regulus Black.

His eyes were wide, almost comedically so. The book in his hands dropped to the floor along with his jaw. His jaw was sharp just as his eyes were regal. He was everything I could recall upon my last seeing him among the living. His hair was windswept as it had never been before. His eyes were not caged by a blackness that had always seemed to weigh on his body and mind. He appeared… healthy. How shocking.

Black, upon realizing that he had yet invited me in, he shook himself out of his stupor and motioned to the seat across from himself with an unusual amount of enthusiasm. Tilting my head, I entered the room without a word. Black had yet to speak. We both sat in comfortable silence until Black had the nerve to break that silence.

"So…"

I raised an eyebrow.

"Your dead, then?"

"It seems so," I said with a drawl.

"It took you long enough." I was not impressed with his comment.

"Yes. How fortunate you were to have died twenty years before my death. You are most… _lucky_." His eyes were the deepest black I'd seen in quite some time. His smile at my slight was unnerving in some regards, but to see him so, alive, in such a state was enough to melt the frost that swept over my figure. "Perhaps you could enlighten me as to what our current situation is, perhaps?"

Black picked his book up with a swiftness that could only be described as elegance. His shoulders fell from their previous stiffness as he leaned into the cushions. His lips twitched. "I had almost forgotten the shock of death. It feels like it was just yesterday, though." I gave no sign of amusement. The second son of the Black's continued. "As to our location, Snape, we are on Hogwarts Express. Not the real one of course, but the, well, sort of heavenly version."

"And where are we going? Are you," I sneered at him, "my guide to the afterlife?"

His guffaw was enough of an answer.

"Well, I know you're not the type to have your feelings spared, so no. I had no clue I'd be seeing you this day. I was, in truth, taking the train to the coffee shop."

Blaming what I had heard on my just dying, I asked him to repeat himself. He replied with the same response.

I asked in kind, "Hell has a coffee shop?"

Regulus leaned forward, his hands on his knees and his eyes smiling.

"Snape, I never took you to be so dull-minded." Before I could appropriate a proper rebuttal, he spoke, "This is Heaven."

Shocked to the blood in my bones, I threw myself into the cousin behind as if I had been stung. How could I have ended up in Heaven? This quite a predicament. I tortured, and I killed, and I caused more children to cry; then there were students in Hogwarts. How would anyone in their right mind allow me the entrance into a place of, should I dare say, holiness? I have committed the most atrocious sins, yet I am allowed to dwell with the pure of heart? I am surprised that the heavens did not take it as their mission to spit upon my tarnished soul. How could I—

"What are you thinking?"

Black's book lay discarded in favor of my company. How sad.

"Nothing that would concern you, Black."

He nodded. "So, death, then? I would be surprised if you were thinking about anything else."

I held my tongue, which was apparently an indicator for Black to babble on.

"I'm still unsure if I'm even dead, at times. Everything is so real here. There are a few signs that will assure you that yes, you are dead. Such as the… the sort of happiness that becomes you. Yes, yes, quit your glaring," He swept his hair to the side, "it sounds most obnoxious when stated out loud, but you'll understand it once you've been here for a longer time. And so you don't worry about a certain green spell being thrown your way, there's nothing that can do you harm here except your mind."

A loud hiss escaped from outside the train, followed by the thumping of the train against the tracks. Every thump surged through my bones, and Black's hands began to tap the side of the window.

"I can skip coffee for today. I'll show you to your house, wherever it may be." The chugging of the train turned into a gallop.

"My house?"

He threw his legs onto the cushion next to me with a slight chortle. "Yes, your house. The moment you die a house in your name comes into existence. It is your preferred home to the very texture of the walls. It won't change for a couple of centuries, though. It tends to stick to the ideals you had when you died."

I had but one response to that. "If you would be so kind, Black, as to remove your… feet from the chair, then I might be less likely to leave."

"Leave?" He did as I asked but through his face close to mine as to irritate me to a greater extent. "Where would you go? You're on a moving train in Heaven, you're dead, and you have no clue what you're doing or where you're going." His voice was silvery.

Begrudgingly, I nodded my head in acknowledgment. An air of silence swept over both of us. It was uncomfortable to a fault. Black's brows scrunched together as his incessant came to an abrupt stop.

"It's… hard. Dying. I mean, it's not hard, not really, but…" His words faded as he shook his head. "Dealing with the present is hard. Thinking of those we left behind. Thinking of what we did wrong and all the ways we failed: who we couldn't save—"

"No."

"No, what?"

"I left behind no one that will need or miss my enjoyable presence. I am not bothered by my death. I am bothered by the fact that I was deemed good enough to get into," I gestured vaguely, "this place."

His eyes narrowed. "Sure, you're a bit surly and maybe a bit too keen on the suffering of those struck by idiocy, but those traits everyone admires oh so much, they don't nullify the good that you've done."

The good I've done? What could I have done that would lift my soul out of hell-fire and into the light, even when I'd been weighed down so heavily by lives I've taken. These supposed 'good deeds' must have been recognized by Gryifndoor to have given me such a pass. Even the prospect of that or any of this happening is ridiculous. My eyes wandered back to my forearm, as black as an empty canvas.

Black hummed, seemingly pleased.

"It's incredible, isn't it? No more mark of death, no more He Who Must Not Be Named, no more worries, and no more unspeakable tortures awaiting our every mistake,"

"Yes, yes, but how is it gone?" I hissed, inpatient. "You appear to be young, around the age you supposedly died, and I the same. Why wouldn't the mark remain?"

He shrugged.

"We're dead. You-Know-Who wasn't very forthcoming about death. We are where he would never dare to follow." Taking note of my grimace, he concluded, "And when the bastard does die, I bet they'll have a 'coming home' party for prepared for him in Hell.

On another note, do you think you could guess how I like my coffee? You've always seemed like the type to make accurate predictions. Not like a seer or anything of the sort. You've always been observant from what I could tell."

"Black," I growled.

He shook his head, placing the book back onto his lap.

"No, I do not enjoy black coffee. It's too bitter." He proceeded on with a mock whisper, "I prefer at least half of the cup to be heavy cream. Don't tell anyone though; it's a bit of a Black family secret." In another afterlife, I most certainly pulled out my wand and hit him with a well-deserved stupify. I wouldn't be held accountable for my actions, of course. After all, I did quite recently die.

The train began to slow, as did my heart. Another question is, when did my heartbeat match the pace of the pulsing train?

Black eyes lit up with the light of a full moon. With a questioning look at me, his back straightened as he shoved the book in his pocket. The title of the novel just barely escaped my sight. He stood rather decisively and reached a hand in my direction. A single brow arched.

"Are you coming? Your new home will be awaiting you most early by now."

I stared at his hand; calloused, yet almost delicate. I placed my hand in his. Looking into his eyes, grumbled, "Don't disappoint me, Black."

His smile was winsome.

He leads me to back to the door I had entered from, and we stepped outside into the new world. It almost seems promising.

~3~


	2. The Secret Garden

**Chapter Two: The Secret Garden**

The monstrosity laid out before I was as daunting as walking into a class full of dunderheads. The walls were high, and pillars arched at the entrance. Batwing black marble tiled the pathway to the grand doors ahead made of dark, heavy wood. Two separate paths protruded from the main in opposite directions that seemed to wrap around the house. Whatever could they lead to? The grass was trimmed while the bushes were all rocketed sky-high, nearly reaching the top of the house. Ivy crawled up the sides of every wall. It was enormous and ostentatious and, without a doubt, stunning.

A pressure applied to my shoulder caused me to swivel. Black was looking onwards at the mansion with his foot tapping much too rapidly. Observing my lost expression, Black grinned.

"Your house is extraordinary, Snape! Mine doesn't look nearly as modern." His hand remained on my shoulder. Lips twitching, I shrugged it off. Unfortunately, Black's air of vibrancy did not dampen in the least; when he forcibly pulled me along after him towards the doors, he grew even more delighted in his demeanor.

The entrance room was as grand as the outside of the house. Two elaborate staircases curved up each side of the opposite walls and met in the middle to create a point of extreme interest. In addition to the stairs, blooming hydrangeas framed each window that stood high and low on the wall. To believe that this is what I had desired sounds preposterous. Black was not in the same shock as I. He, being disgustingly graceful, flew across the floor with me in tow behind him. We swerved to the left doorway.

We entered a humble kitchen. The blinds were opened, giving the room a warm tint. Not to be distracted, we continued. We admired the dining room, complete with a black gemmed chandelier; also, we passed the living room, the tea room, potions room, restroom, library, and many more. When we finally traversed the staircase to inspect the bedrooms. What we discovered was quite shocking.

My bedroom was similar in appearance to that of my living quarters in Hogwarts. It was dark. The shades were pulled down, and only the light of a few lit candles allowed us the most minimal vision. I felt those few flickering flames burn in my soul. I walked toward the bed, laying my hand upon the sheets. It felt smooth under my hand, like the feathers of a Jobberknoll. I hated those birds.

Shuffling to my desk, I took note of the papers of potions and new, envigorating experiments littered its mass, just like home.

"So this is your room," Black mused, "It definitely keeps true to your character."

"And what," I sneered, "do you mean by that?"

His hand wandered to the center of my back, lightly pushing me towards the adjourning door. I glanced back at the place that felt so familiar to me. A soft tinder touched my heart with a frightening tenderness. Before I could dwell on these feelings, which I thirsted for with a strength stronger than my will to live, Black guided me into the next room.

My breath caught; my lungs were squeezed with an iron grip until they burned with pain more terrible than the prick an oncoming case of rejected tears. This must be hell. It must be.

The room was that of one in a muggle horror film. The walls were a delicate yellow but the windows cast in a dawning light. I realized the air was as fresh as the air in a forest once I gained the functions of my lungs back. A rocking chair sat in the corner of the room while a dastardly mobile, charmed with animated ravens, lions, badgers, and snakes, spun smoothly. Below that mobile sat a thing of nightmares: a baby cradle.

My dark hair cascaded into my face, obscuring my vision ever so slightly. For this, I was grateful. Black was not so tentative in his desire for discovery. I dared not take my eyes away from the cradle, but Black's breathe caught in a way that made my heart tumble down to the bottom of my stomach. He strode over to the crib and leaned his head forward. He gripped the sides of it like a wand amid battle.

"Snape," Was all he could choke out.

Swallowing the bile swelling in my throat, I stiffened my spine and readied my mind for the worst. Looking down at the cause of Black's shock, I was a single breath away from crashing to my knees. With a tremor running up and down my body, my trembling hands reached into the cradle.

The cradle in the room that had haunted my dreams, and every blink I took was an infant. The chubby, rosy-cheeked child stared into my eyes. They were green. Wisps of black hair were ruffled on the child's head as he squirmed, reaching his clumsy hand towards my own. I wanted nothing more than to snatch back my limb and storm out of the God-forsaken room, but those eyes shackled my shaking soul. Damn this heaven.

I lifted the child out of the cradle and swept him into my arms. Snuggled into the crook of my neck, the child was quiet and content. Had I left my resolve in the living world, I would have wept for joy, bitterness, and the irony of it all. Never has there been a warmth so tender and near to my heart than the joy this child gave me in his comfort.

"Black,"

"Yes?"

"Would you care to… _enlighten_ me."

"On what subject?"

"Perhaps I speak of the child resting in my arms?"

"Ah. That."

"Yes, that." He's an absolute idiot.

Black's eyes flickered between the child and me, the corner of his mouth turning downwards.

"Well, this is your house. As I said, it has everything you'd ever need and ever want. Apparently, you wanted a… baby?

"This is not just any random child, Black? This is Harry Potter! The last time I saw him, I assure you he was very alive, and very much not a baby," I growled.

He crossed his arms with pursed lips.

"I don't know everything; I'm not God or anything like that. How am I supposed to know?" I pulled the child, Harry, closer to my chest. "Anyway," Black said quickly, "He looks a bit like you. The little bit of hair he's got growing looks nothing like Potter's. A right mess, his was. This kid's hair is black as night."

Scrutinizing Harry, my observations were similar to Black's. Could this house have genuinely dug into the graves of my dead desires? Could this child be mine? Green eyes, more beautiful than his mother's, and hair darker than my own? It's inconceivable… Impossible, even! There's no sense in any of it. Upon sharing my storming thoughts with Black, he agreed with a composed shrug.

I sat in the rocking chair, robes hanging and Harry giggling. Shifting, I positioned Harry in my lap.

"Can you speak?" I Inquired.

Beaming, the toddler gave a merry giggle.

Stomach coiling tightly, I asked, "What. Is. Your. Name?"

"Hawwy!" He squealed, clapping his small hands excitedly. Snape hesitated.

"And… Do you know who I am, Harry?"

Harry settled from his giggles and titled his heavy head with a sudden, serious look.

"Dada?"

"…"

I stood abruptly, and Harry let out a gasp at the jarring movement. Stalking over the Black who had been watching the encounter, I promptly shoved Harry into his arms. Shoulders jumping, he looked at Harry like an unjarred bat spleen. I left the room in haste, leaving Black shouting after me. The floor was at my heels, and my heart lodged itself in my throat. No doors deterred me from my path to memory lane. No wall, painting, or any object for that matter, was processed as real. Images swirled in my head, fusing into a storm I knew I would not survive. Doors exiting the house were thrown open, and I tossed myself I out of them. My feet stayed with solid ground, and a path led me to another dwelling near the building. Brick walls the size of two Hagrids stood proud. Hidden beneath a thin layer of ivory was a delicate gate. I opened it with little thought and heard it clang shut behind me upon entering. My robes billowed as I flew into the unknown; that was a dreadful mistake.

I stopped abruptly.

'N_o… It couldn't be_.' I thought, my dread growing.

I stood in the middle of a garden; flowers filled inch of land except for the path as ivy crawled up the brick walls. Turning, In my sight, I caught a fountain. It's clay now cracked and was tinged with green. Water fell from the tipped vase carried above a slim woman's head while I stood in front of the fountain, captivated. The woman was beautiful. Her head turned, smiling. "_Severus. I've been waiting for you_," She whispered.

I stumbled back, tripping on a plethora of daisies.

My back hit the dirt while my eyes met the sky. I did not move to get up. Instead, I decided it would be most logical to empty my senses. Closing my eyes, I fell into a death-like sleep.

Pulse spiked and wand in hand, I sprung up unsteadily. My surroundings were blurred, and I swayed violently. The creak pierced my ears again. Searching for my soon to be assailant, I was more than agitated upon seeing Regulus Black. Whipping the dirt from my robes, I scowled at him.

"What do you want?" I drawled with disdain.

He shook his head.

"Nothing, nothing. You were gone for a while, and I began to worry."

"I don't need your worry, Black. My own is already sufficient."

"Snape, about—"

"No," I hissed.

"But—"

"No," I repeated, my voice now no more than a whisper. "I will _not_, and I _never_ wi…"

"Dada!"

A small body threw itself at my legs, nearly knocking me over. Straightening myself with a scowl, I looked down at the small child attached to my legs. Harry looked into my eyes and his grip slacked. I glared on at him, willing him to let go. Please, please, just let go.

Now frowning, he asked me in an insecure voice, "Dada?"

His eyes are despicable. His eyes were all I ever wanted. Those orbs of delight were the only thing I was confident of being true. All of the lies, all of the torment I suffered through was all for her, all for Harry. I hate him as I did his father, but I love him as if he were my son. Can I dare to hope this second chance is not another carpet to be swept out from beneath my feet? My glare melted into a bone-weary expression. Harry's arms held me tighter than before.

Taken out of a trance, Regulus appeared to have moved to sit on the edge of the fountain. I eyed the clay woman dubiously. Harry's chubby hand took my own and began attempting to pull towards the fountain. Exhausted in every way imaginable, I let him drag me along. Unsurprisingly, I saved him from one to many stumbles on the way there. I sat down and pulled Harry into my lap. Regulus gave me a side glance and scooted closer to me. I would have barked at him to move farther away yet, but I could not gather the will to do so.

Harry burrowed his face in my shoulder, as the water poured behind us. Birds chirped, though I saw no birds. The vivid flowers glistened, though it had not rained. Regulus slid closer yet, hair brushing my side, though I don't know him well. The wind whispered in my ear and lifted my spirits with it. I don't, not in the least, deserve any of these… wonders. But I will not refuse myself all of the contentment that comes along with them.

A drop of moisture seeped into my shoulder, and the alluring fountain woman moved once more. Her eyes, which held a green growth of some plant, were somehow joyful as her stone tresses brushed my hair. Her nose nearly to mine, she breathed, "Welcome home, Severus. I missed you dearly."

She stood once more to her full height, vase above her, and she began softly singing the cherished lullaby my mother had sung me before bed.

_"Wishes of wisdome,_

_My darling, I grant you._

_Lovely little things,_

_For you to keep,_

_For your peace,_

_I'll gladly weep."_

I closed my eyes and absorbed the air, the blossoming flowers, the lullaby, the sweet memories of my lost mother, and the child nestled in my arms.

"Snape," Black murmured. "You still care for Harry? After all this time?"

I looked him in the eyes.

"Always."


	3. The Dawning Sun

Chapter 3- The Dawning Sun

A burst of cold air met the warmth of my arms and legs. Squinting my eyes, I glared at my offender. Regulus had taken it upon himself—going so far as to assume had the right—to rip my blanket from its home. Harry let out a wine, as he was laying two pillow lengths away.

The past couple of weeks had been filled with acquainting myself with little Harry and Black. Unexpectedly, Black seems to be a decent companion. Unbelievably, he was related to his mutt brother. Despite the wonders I've experienced in the life that I'd handled calmly, a sense of doom followed me like a thunderstorm this past week. All that I've experienced has been pleasurable; suspiciously so. I cannot help but feel there is some payment that I've left unpaid; some contract of suffering I will have to sign my name upon with ink made of my blood.

"Black," I growled. "Why in Slytherin's name are you here? Do you have any idea what the time is? I looked at the window, and as expected, it was still dark; my lips pulled into a scowl.

Black, acting more like his brother than I would have ever liked, sat on the edge of my bed, scooting closer and closer to me like an inchworm squirming to its death. I vocalized my astute comparison to Black. Frustratingly, his countenance had not been altered in the slightest. An itch crawled up my back that pricked and pinched every nerve. It was the same feeling I would acquire when the Longbottom child would ruin his potions. Ah. It is my fondest and most loyal companion: Irritation.

"Snape, before you hex me to nothing, which is impossible, may I remind you, that I am not here to curse you to madness or humiliation. In fact, I come here to do quite the opposite." He grinned with the joy of a preening owl. "You've been here for a decent amount of time, yet you've not left your property! That is why I have taken it upon myself, as your friend, to introduce you to the places I most enjoy!"

"Since when have we had _friends_, Black?

"Since the day we met on that train, Snape. I would have never pegged you to be so, how should I put it? So thick."

Ripping the blanket from his hands, I then bundled it around Harry.

I stood, stretching as I did. I proceeded to change into something more appropriate for travel. I black cloak would do.

"Do you have nothing else in that closet?" Black tugged at my sleeve. "I swear to our remaining existence that you have worn that exact cloak days and days in a row. It's either that, or you lack any style."

In a flurry of messy hair and snappish remarks between Black and I, he barged his way into my closet. Less than a minute later, he shoved a garment into my hands and demanded that I change. Bewildered, annoyed, and sleep-deprived, I changed my clothes without much of a struggle. The fabric, I will admit, was something to be envied. A deep, dusky green made up the majority of the cloth. A pristine and intricate broach completed the item, for it was shaped like a snake. How ironic.

We left my home at a quick pace. Black had changed Harry into a fetching piece that considerably complimented my own. Do not mistake my observation of the fact as sentimental. I genuinely do not care.

A carriage awaited us, pulled by the same stoic and deathly creatures that pulled the Hogwarts carriages: Thestrals. A string of worry wormed its way into my stomach as Harry took clumsy but intentioned steps towards the animals. I hurried my tread, but Black beat me to it. The dunderhead then did just as I had wished against. He took Harry into his arms and lifted him to pet the creatures. Why, why would he do that? Did the idiot know nothing of them?

After resolving the frustrating situation, we rode to the mysterious location Black had eluded to. Stepping out of the carriage with a swiftly, I gazed at the establishment in front of us. I was not expecting anything, not really. Somehow, though, my absent expectations were painted with poison. It almost burned.

Harry, not nearly as lost as I, let go of my hand and took off as fast as he could without taking a tumble toward the building. In a bright and flamboyant explosion of colors and swirling bits of flame, hung a sign, reading: 'The Dawning Sun.' Black stood by my side, an eager expression coloring his eyes.

"You…"

"Yes?" He replied ardently.

"You brought me to a… _coffee shop_?"

Black smiled brilliantly. "Yes, yes! It is my favorite place around these parts! I have grown most familiar with the employees. So as long as you refrain from grimacing the entire time, you should be fine enough. If you aren't capable of that than I'll just tell them you died recently. Saying that tends to get people to cut you some slack."

He opened the door for Harry and me, and the ringing of bells rung through the shop. I was then bombarded by the atmosphere swirling through the coffee shop. Soft murmurs of the many customers turned into its own sort of music. The strums of instruments I could not decipher poured into the warmth of the shop like a heavy mist, curling, and shifting at the feet of its inhabitants. Linking our elbows, Black nodded toward the ceiling. Harps, violins, and more hovered all about, always moving. Harry had already wandered to the cash register. The employee cooed down at the green-eyed boy.

Black pulled me with him and offered the fit women at the register a loud cough. Her eyes flickered from Black to me, eyebrows raising a tich.

"Snape, I'd like to introduce you to my good friend," His smile widened as if to say, 'Yes, I have friends, see?'. Idiot. "Olivia Gard. Olvia, this is my companion Severus Snape. Please excuse his fretful expression. He just died recently, you will understand." Her hair flashed, just briefly, to a plum purple. So she's a metamorphmagus… Hmm; how _interesting_.

She shook my hand across the counter.

"Well then, Severus, welcome to Heaven. And even better, Welcome to The Dawning Sun. Our specials are Dragon Gold's Latte, Sweet Tear Tea, and my personal favorite, the Blazing Blonde Toffee Venti."

"And the price?" I drawled. She looked down at Harry, her hair turning a rose petal pink.

"Introduce me to this little man, and It will be on the house."

Regulus chuckled, "Don't take that seriously, Snape. Everything is free. People work and do things like this for the enjoyment of—"

"I'm Hawwy!"

Oliva beamed.

"I'm Olivia. It's an honor to meet you, Harry."

As I lifted Harry back into my arms, Regulus whispered an inaudible message into Ms. Olivia's ear. She nodded and blew a kiss to Harry and pointed a slight bow to me before moving towards the coffee supplies.

Regulus pulled me toward a small table toward the corner of the shop.

"I ordered my regular for myself and something I thought you'd enjoy for you, of course. That is if you don't mind."

"Would it matter if I did mind?"

"I suppose not," He shrugged.

"And what of Harry?"

"I got him a treat I think he'll enjoy. Oliva seems to think he's more of an angel than anyone else around, so I think she'll make it exceptionally delicious."

Harry squirmed in my lap, and I put my hand on his head. The child giggled as my lips curled upwards. Harry is here with me. This child, this blessed child will not be hurt by any hardships. I will never leave him to face his struggles alone. Black purposely coughed, but my eyes remained upon Harry. If Black proves to be loyal enough, maybe, just maybe, he could be… of some use. Just for Harry's happiness, that is all.

Distracted, my head snapped violently when three floating items landed on our table. A small, obsidian cup filled with a black brew filled me with contentedness. Regulus held a tall glass filled with a thick, creamy beverage. Harry made to grab the tart that landed before him. I assisted him, handing the light substance to him carefully. Across the store, my eyes met Olivias. A stunning blue hue filled my vision as she winked, her hair flashing to a roguish orange. I looked away sluggishly.

Why did Black find this so… fun? There are things to do, potions to make, messy-haired toddler to dote on, so why go to a cafe? Sure the servers seem… pleasant enough, but why one earth would this be the first place Black would go to? Its a regular, magical cafe from what I've observed.

Black, sipping with vigor at his drink, eyed my own beverage. Slowly but surely, he reached towards my own. Sighing, I pushed it towards him. Joyfully, he sipped my drink and promptly grabbed a nearby napkin, spitting the beverage out. Nose scrunched up in distaste, and he pushed his cup towards me. I took a steady sip, and hastily spit the liquid into a crushed napkin. Smoothly, I said the first thing that came to mind.

"How can you—"

"That's distgus—!"

We both fell silent.

"Please, go on." I huffed. Black wasted no time in expressing his distaste.

"Why would you drink that fowl thing? Its worse than some of those horrid potions they would make us swallow down for some sort of healing deal!"

"And yours, Black," I drawled, "is so horribly sweet, that I could nearly feel my throat dissolving. After drinking that, that wretched drink, I would certainly need that 'healing' potion."

Black shook his head, disbelieving. His demeanor switched as quick as lightning struck.

"Harry," He began, "Would you like a sip of my drink. It's delicious, I promise!"

"Yes, pwease!"

"And _what_," I breathed, "Do you think you're doing?"

"Proving you wrong and validating myself, of course!"

Kicking him under the table, Black jumped.

"It is hardly appropriate to give a small child a caffeinated drink."

He shook his head.

"Wrong again, Snape. It's not caffeinated. I'll admit that it is mostly made cloud sugar, but a small sip won't in the least hurt Harry!"

Skeptical as a fish is of land, I called over the lady Olivia Gard to confirm Black's statement.

"Are you joking?" He exhaled as she strutted over.

"Are you needing a refill, Severus?"

"No, not at all." I drawled. "What I would like to know is what is in Black's drink."

"Black?" She quired. Looking at Black and then to myself, her eyes light up in realization. "Regulus, then." I nodded. "Well, Regulus ordered a Mist Prism Shake, so it's shockingly sweet, as expected. It's un-caffeinated and a regular for our 'younger' customers."

"Ah."

Looking at Harry, her eyes crinkled merrily.

"Is that all?"

"Yes, that will do. Thank you, Ms. Gard." With a last glance at Harry, she left.

"Are you sure you won't let Harry have even one sip? He'd love it!"

Making mental calculations, I came to my conclusion.

"He may have one sip and one sip only. Though a bit won't harm him now, having too much of that syrupy poison would give one a bad stomach ache."

Black pushed the glass towards Harry, and he took a hesitant sip.

I knew my decision was a mistake as soon as Harry's eyes took on a glazed over excitement.

After ten minutes of calming the child, for he threw a small fit at the loss of the drink, I asked the question that plagued me since our arrival.

"Black, why did you bring me here?"

He pursed his lips.

"What do you mean?"

Sighing, I said, "I mean, why did you bring me here? There's nothing remarkable about the place, yet you deem it your absolute favorite. I see no reason in your favor."

He shifted in his seat.

"Well, It's similar to a shop my mother used to drag my brother and me too. I hated it at first; nobody would look at me. Nobody would talk to me. They all looked the other way or avoided me. Mother would snap at anyone who would dare to approach her sons. Everyone was riffraff to her. She told me this with utmost certainty after our first visit there."

"I'm not surprised, Black. Your mother was a well-discussed topic in the common rooms."

"Yes. I am aware of that." He slumped into his chair. "One pureblood man was working at that shop that my mother was enamored with; Nice jaw, thick hair, good nose. He was… she told me he was as pretty as anyone would ever get. Of course, I didn't really understand what she meant at the time," Black snorted, "But I sure do, now."

"Is there a moral to your story, or is it just another tale about your mother?"

"No, no. There is a moral," The polished haired man cut in. "The man was as kind as he was handsome. He could tell my mother was venomous. One bite and you'd die. So while she was calling for him at the ordering station, sometimes he would find me sitting alone and would talk funnily to me. It was kind of him. I was lonely, afraid, and confused all too often, and he was a seemingly all-knowing remedy."

"And?" I pressed.

"And," His hands were intertwined, tapping insistently. "And after I began going to Hogwarts, I never saw him again. The next time my mother took me to the cafe during winter break, the man was gone. My mother was most vexed by this development and questioned the manager viciously. They had no clue as to where he had gone. I never even asked his name; I felt like a fool."

Ms. Gard dropped off a small confection decorated with flapping chocolate butterflies in front of Harry. Nodding in thanks, I turned back to Black.

"This cafe reminds me of the one with the kind man. It makes the afterlife feel much more enjoyable." Leaning over the table, his hand just barely brushed my own. Tremors were running through his fingers. "But," He hesitated. "You have made this non-life even more worth living."

"You determined my worth after hardly two months? How sad." I said, pulling my hand back. He snatched it before I could pull away completely. Glaring, I waited for him to let go. It would never do to duel in his favorite establishment.

"Wait, you must understand. I've been alone; far too alone for any good to become of me."

"So you're desperate for relationships?" I remarked slowly.

He shook his head rapidly. "No. I am telling you nothing but the truth, Snape, when I say that you are the best thing that's happened to me since my death. I have met not one sad soul so forthright, so clever, so brilliant."

Harry munched peacefully on his snack. Black spoke with a tremorous vigor.

"You have changed the dead in me. I no longer feel that desolate void clawing at my stomach from the trenches of my broken heart. All of the hate and desperation I've been stuffing away is fading every day when I'm with you." He was whispering now. His black eyes darted from our joined hands to my eyes. His were dark, so very dark: like a starless night.

"_Please_, Snape, believe me." He pleaded. "Please…"

I pulled my hand away. His eyebrows scrunched together with lips pulled down into a mournful frown. Then, I put both of my hands around his own. They were warm.

Never, not even if magic drained from my veins, would I have imagined a Black, or anyone for that matter, admitting such a thing to me. It's a silly, emotional thing, but it hurts; it hurts like a hex shot out of spite. But why does it hurt, and why isn't he lying? I wish he were lying. Maybe then I could handle his… outburst.

"I believe you." His eyes lit up. "But, you would do well with the knowledge that I am… _lacking_ valuable skills in the pitiful thing you call friendship." Black let out a huff of air as if he'd been holding his breath.

"I don't care for that, Snape. I can hardly believe that when you were so close with Evan's back in Hogwarts." I scowled and looked away. Leave it to a Black to mess up anything and everything.

"I wouldn't say that, Black."

"Regulus." He corrected. "My name is Regulus, so please call me my name."

I pursed my lips. "As you wish… Regulus."

"Could I call you Severus?"

"Not if you'd like to remain alive."

"Then it's a good thing I'm dead, Severus," He chuckled.

Scowling, I look back down to Harry. He had mirthfully scarfed down the rest of his sweet snack. I wiped the crumbs off of his face, and green eyes cheered me on as I did.

"Are you tired out for today?" Black, no, Regulus inquired.

"I am tired constantly," I grumbled back.

"Perfect! Because I have the perfect way to enter the night?"

One eyebrow raised, I asked what he had in mind.

"Well, I thought that maybe we could…"


	4. The Sleepless Night

Chapter Four: The Sleepless Night

I am going to get no sleep this night: none at all. Why? Well, my dear friend Black, now Regulus, thought it would be fun to break my rituals I've been forming. Why? Because I, in his mind, believe I now live a dead and dull life. Though the truth is far from his beliefs, he insisted we do this… thing. What makes it even more obnoxious is that there is not a sliver of sense to be found anywhere in his reasoning. It's not like we didn't do this deed, in a way, every night at Hogwarts. Idiot.

Now, the main reason for accepting his request was but on Harry's behalf. If not for my son's happy babbling at the idea of a 'sleepover,' I would have sent a stinging hex at the man. I didn't, but I have a perfect vision in my mind of myself doing precisely that. Ah, if only I had acted upon my will.

Regulus had been insistent that we properly 'prepare' for the event. What that meant was beyond my realm of comprehension. What surprised me, even more, was his disappearance from the coffee house and his leaving me there. I went with Harry back to the house and waited for the impending horrors that would be inflicted upon me. Odd as that Lovegood child in Hogwarts, Regulus did not return for many hours. Only when the sky began to drop into a dark and silent night, did he appear. With a small sack slung over his shoulder, he gave a bright smile and patted my shoulder. Hm. A feeling snuck into my heart that wasn't wholly awful; how unusual.

We approached the living room and sat parallel from each other. Scrolls littered the floor.

"Say, Severus," He began. "Why is there parchment all over your floor? I thought you were more picky about the sort of thing."

"I've been busy." I drawled.

His eyes shifted around the room, looking left and right. A small grin graced his lips. Pale and poised as always, he reached into his bag but quicky wretched his hand back out.

"Where's Harry?" He queried suddenly.

"Asleep. He's napping in his cradle." Sighing in thought, he then reached into his bag once more, and grabbed a… a _what_?

"And what is that?"

"This, my dearest companion, is a muggle invention."

"You?" I inquired, eyebrows reaching my hairline. "Are using something _muggle_?"

"Yes, yes," he breathed, leaning closer to me. "I am using muggle products. I bet Mother is rolling around in the fire of Hell right this moment because of the fact."

I nodded. It's more likely than not, I think.

"It's called, a face mask. It's a thing that you pour water into and then spread it onto your face. It does a weird muggle thing and is supposed to clean your face. It's like magic, but not magic!"

I nodded. Lily… Well, she had shown me this same invention when we were children. Coerced by her radiance, I tried it. It felt like my skin was being pulled off my skull like with some cruel and horrific spell. I told her as such, and she had promptly slapped my shoulder and rambled her denials. It was all too endearing. These thoughts of Lily torment me. Her blistering, ablaze hair silky to the touch, her skin as soft as moonlight. Her eyes, as precious as gems. To think about her is to suffer a fate worse than death: Heaven. Never had I met a woman lovelier than she, and never will I again. There is no comparison, no equal to Lily Evans. That fact alone is more bitter than the blasted taste of Skele-Gro. That potion I was all too familiar with thanks to Potter and his cronies. My jaw clenched. Hate is a powerful and fearful thing, and it might always be the muse of discord. Maybe that's why there was never the option of resolving the feud between Potter and myself; because we both indisputably hated each other.

With the warmth of Regulus's soft hand pressed upon my skin, I was thrown out of my descending and detestable wallowing. My eyes snapped to Regulus. His hair was messy and unkempt, which was not entirely unusual. He held out the container of powdered facemask, and his smile had a questioning lilt to it. With a brief, rising of the corner of my lips, I accepted his offer.

An hour later, we sat on the ground like children. His and I's hair was tied back in these ridiculous colorful hair ties he pulled from the bag. The only way I consented to this was through thoroughly threatening him and making him swear to secrecy about this happening. He gave a steady vow, which was meagerly satisfying. Well, it was for a moment. A pale green substance was layered on our faces, which was the 'face mask.' It wasn't entirely awful.

For the next few hours as we shifted and moved about the room and we spoke of many things. We spoke of the war after Regulus's death, the trauma he endured from his mother's wrath and more topics that were even more tedious. I couldn't comprehend his… comfort while speaking of these subjects. Later I determined that death transformed people. The afterlife has nothing but resolution hidden in its core, and everyone is doing their best to heal from the mental ailments they acquired in life. Regulus is no exception to this rule. I am almost afraid to think that I might be an unwilling participant in it, too.

After Regulus had begun to visibly tire, eyes drifting off into a daze and snapping back awake, I suggested we sleep. My gaze drifted towards the door. I should sleep in my own bed and lead Regulus one of the guest rooms. He might find them to be decent enough. The Black heir shook his head in disagreement, almost seeming to have read my mind. I eyed him carefully, and he then shook his head again.

"We are not sleeping in the bedrooms. No, that's not acceptable. I read that it is optimal for a proper sleepover to commence in the living room with pillows, blankets, and maybe even sleeping bags." He insisted drowsily.

"Why sleep in the living room if there are plenty of bedrooms? I see no logic in it,"

"Because it won't be a proper sleepover if it's done any other way; it would break my heart, Severus."

I wish he were joking. But as tired as he was, all that he had said had a serious undertone. Really, I had no choice but to comply with his wishes. If I would have done anything else, who knows how he would've responded. I nodded, and Regulus grinned like a cat on catnip. I know what that looks like because of the 'Catnip Incident' with Minerva—McGonagall—my fourth year. It was a terrible thing, the aftermath. I was all too eager to watch the offenders' punishment be distributed among them.

My friend pulled out at least seven pillows and three blankets from his royal purple bag. Pushing every limit, he then pulled out a rectangular device, a large, think, black square object, and numerous small cases with bright, muggle pictures.

"What is this?"

Regulus yawned.

"It's a muggle thing called a T and V, and it if you connect all these weird black strings to this other thing and put a disk from these boxes into that thing than a long moving picture plays on the screen! It's rather incredible. No, I take that back. It's a little bit incredible; just a little bit.

"And what are you planning on doing with that device?"

His lips pursed. "Well, plug the whole thing up and play one of these moving pictures as well fall asleep. It's the final and most crucial part of an accomplished sleepover," He explained matter-of-factly.

"You don't plan on sleeping in your robes, do you?"

"Of course not! And neither will you, Severus. I grabbed some pajamas for both of us just for this occasion."

He pulled out two pairs of identical pajamas. Both were plaid with gray, green, and Black. As I fingered the fabric, the sleepwear became twice as appealing. It was soft. Both him and I changed, and he told me with sleepy certainty that I looked rather good. I scrunched my nose and clumped that offhand compliment as his exhaustion speaking. Despite my confusion, I returned the compliment with a halfhearted question. I then checked on Harry and found him sleeping soundly. When I returned, the muggle film was playing, and Regulus was snuggled in a couple of pillows and a wooly blanket. Interesting. Setting myself down next to him, the bright screen rang with cry and gunshots, but all was blurred into the background. Regulus… His eyes lashes were curiously long. They looked almost delicate.

The room was dark, but the glow of the television surrounded him. Laying next to him like this… I almost feel young. I can practically hear the shaking, slam of the door to the room next to mine; my mother's crying, my father's billowing howls. My small hands would shake as they wrapped around my stomach. Crouched, and curled up as little as possible, I'd rock myself back and forth in the depths of my closet. _It will be tomorrow soon_, I'd think to myself over, over, and over again. It hurt. My throat was clenched, almost straining to be strung through a scream. My heaving breaths were quiet, and so were the tears falling down my face. On the quiet nights, I'd lay in my bed, awake. I was tense, just waiting, anxious as someone waiting to hear from their absent loved one. _I am grateful for the silence_, I'd pray,_ Thank God for the quiet. Please, please, let it be forever._

The quiet never lasted long. But even as I fell asleep years later, as Hogwarts potions professor, I would say thank you to the silence. I don't like feeling this young.

Regulus rips open wounds I forgot I had. Would that make him just as bad for me as his brother—that thoughtless, brainless idiot—, or would that make him… good? Maybe. Regulus is undoubtedly good for Harry. Even if it turns out he's bad for me, I have decided through rational deduction that I would do anything for my son. Though there's no proper reason for his appearance, I believe I've discovered how he came to be. There would never be a Heaven for me if Harry weren't with me. This Heaven would have been Hell, and it seems the soul of the universe knows that.

Regulus shuffled in a fitful sleep.

What an odd day. All of these… _emotions_ are giving me a headache.

Though this afterlife would be Hell without Harry, Regulus would have made it tolerable.

Sighing, I stared up at the shadowed ceiling.

I could live with this. Well, more accurately, I could die with this.

...

Authors Note: Sorry about this post disappearing for a bit. I had some corrections to make on it. Enjoy!


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